


Love Like a Loon

by oceans4jinyoung



Category: GOT7
Genre: Art, Ass Play, Blow Jobs, Jaebeom Has Questionable Fundraising Techniques, M/M, Museum Director Jaebeom, Museums, Rich Mark Tuan, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Tension, erotic art
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-01-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:07:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27540514
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oceans4jinyoung/pseuds/oceans4jinyoung
Summary: Jaebeom never intended to rise to the position of executive director at a local art museum.  But when the museum finishing it’s major renovations hinges on the director’s ability to capture the intrigue of startup genius and potential new donor, Mark Tuan, he feels called to action.  Immediately, he can tell that Mark has no interest in art.  Yet when it becomes clear that he instead has an interest in Jaebeom, the director feels confident he can offer just the right negotiation to make everyone happy.
Relationships: Im Jaebum | JB/Mark Tuan
Comments: 24
Kudos: 95
Collections: Markbeom fic fest 2020





	Love Like a Loon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sugar_rush_JB](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sugar_rush_JB/gifts).



“We’re over budget,” Youngjae said with absolutely no preamble.

Jaebeom rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “You always say that,” he said, putting his feet up onto his desk. He tried to distract himself from the conversation, looking out of the glass doors of his office and trying to catch sight of Jinyoung.

“Jaebeom,” Youngjae snapped, leaning into his line of sight.

“What?” he groaned. His eyes went back to Youngjae, seeing his Chief Financial Officer giving him one hell of a death glare. “Fine,” he surrendered his full attention, leaning over the desk towards him. “Tell it to me straight. And remember, I’m not a numbers guy.”

“The renovations you are doing on the East Wing?” Youngjae beckoned out the glass windows at their side, to the museum lobby that stretched out beneath. “We can’t finish them if we can’t pay the contractors next week.”

Jaebeom looked down into the lobby, seeing the couple of people at Bambam’s front desk. A map of the museum stretched out between them as Jaebeom imagined the guest services representative extending his best customer service smile. “Mhmm,” he hummed, searching for white hair, dowdy clothes, but coming up empty.

“We have the Winter Gala at the end of the week,” Youngjae said. “But even with our projected numbers for the auction, even with the pieces we’ve decided to deaccession for sale, I’m not sure it’s enough.”

Jaebeom looked back at him, seeing the severity of his expression. The tiredness under his eyes from nights of crunching numbers. And Jaebeom suddenly felt a pang of guilt. Wondering if this was a testament to his incompetence as the Executive Director. If the past year in this role would end in a bankrupt art museum and a non-profit coup. He refocused, “What do I do?”

Youngjae’s shoulders fell. Half in what seemed to be relief that the dilemma was finally getting the attention it deserved. Half in what seemed to be softness mirrored in his next words. “You need to start thinking about who from the staff you could live without.”

“No one,” Jaebeom was quick to jump to. Because he’d grown too fond of the small staff of miscreants and he couldn’t bear the thought of letting any of them go. And maybe that made him weak as a leader. He hadn’t decided yet. “Everyone on the team is indispensable.” 

“What’s indispensable is those renovations getting finished on time,” Youngjae huffed. “You can’t keep expecting people to come and pay full price admission to only see half of the museum.”

Jaebeom went quiet, fiddling with the clutter on his desk. Eyes averted and voice small. “I have a plan.”

Youngjae’s eyes narrowed. “What plan?” he asked, teetering on a hiss. “Jaebeom. You have one week. What could you possibly-”

“Jaebeom,” Jinyoung said, leaning into the doorway of the office. “He’s here. In the lobby when you’re ready.”

Jaebeom’s mouth thinned in a smile. “Thank you, Jinyoung,” he breathed, getting up and finding the mirror against the wall. Pushing his glasses up his nose, fixing his hair away from his face. 

Youngjae’s face drew up in a sneer in the mirror’s reflection. “Who is it?” he asked, judgement in his voice.

Jaebeom straightened his blazer. “A new potential donor.”

When he looked back, Youngjae’s brow was raised high above the other. “That’s your plan?” he asked, tone heavy with cynicism. “Cycle through some rich old people until you find one that will cut you a big enough check?”

Jaebeom’s shoulders drew up. “That’s my plan, Youngjae,” he sighed, exasperated. “Do you have a better one?”

Youngjae went quiet, face tinkering between thoughts before he sighed. “Do what you have to do, Jaebeom,” he said, waving his hand dismissively. “As long as you are taking this seriously.”

“I am,” Jaebeom assured him, squeezing the man’s shoulder as he weaved out of the office. “I am.”

Jaebeom padded down the staircase towards the lobby. There were a few people funneling in from the street who were starting to look around, but no one fitting the demographic of a typical donor. 

He went to the front desk, meeting Bambam’s eyes with an unspoken question. The only reply he got was the beckoning of the staff’s head where Jaebeom’s eyes then followed.

Looking up at a sculpture was a young man, jeans and a sweatshirt. Hands in his pockets. Shaggy black hair. And even from behind, Jaebeom figured he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five.

Jaebeom approached slowly, still so unsure. And the man must have heard his footsteps coming because he turned, looking up at him. His face was just as young. But handsome. Striking under the lobby’s skylights that would have typically been too bright, washing out those who were duller. But under the same light, the man was only made more vivid. And something about it caught Jaebeom off guard.

He felt suddenly taken aback, out of his depth. Stumbling for his words. “Mr. Tuan?” he asked.

“Yes,” he said, smiling immediately. So dazzling, overpowering. “That would be me.” 

“Welcome to…” Jaebeom was lost again, getting caught up in the man’s smile. 

The man raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer as Jaebeom's sentence hung in the air.

The director felt awkward under the pin of his stare. He inhaled, trying to collect his thoughts. “Welcome to the museum.”

He smiled again, “You must be the director.”

“I am,” he nodded, offering his hand. “Jaebeom.”

“Pleasure,” he said, drawing his hand from his pocket and reaching out to shake. His skin was still warm, his fingers long as they wrapped so far around Jaebeom’s hand that the tips of them rested against the pulse point of his wrist.

It stole Jaebeom’s eyes for a moment, having to watch it happen because it felt so… “Sorry,” he breathed, pulling his hand away. “I was just expecting-”

“Someone older?” the man’s eyes brightened, as if holding a joke.

Jaebeom felt more guilty than he should. “That’s just what I’m used to.”

“Well,” Mark’s tongue wore against the bite of his smile. “Are you pleasantly surprised?”

Jaebeom clocked that nearly sinister smirk, the sparkle of his eyes. But it all still felt out of place, unexpected. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

He laughed, under his breath like it was at the director’s expense. “Show me around, Jaebeom,” he said, warm and smooth.

His mind felt like a slot machine that wouldn’t stop whirring, wondering what it would land on. He cleared his throat, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Of course,” he nodded. “Follow me.”

He led the man past the lobby, turning through corridors that he’d walked a million times. And he was thankful for some kind of structure, a familiar setting, so that those slots could keep whirring in the background. “So, what line of work are you in, Mr. Tuan?” he asked, looking to his side. “Investments, banking, real estate?”

“Please,” he walked closer, their shoulders brushing. “Call me Mark.”

Jaebeom nearly tripped over his own feet. “Alright,” he breathed. “Mark.”

The man smirked, pulling away. “I’m in tech,” he said, putting his hands back into his pockets. “Just sold my third start up this past month.”

“Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” he nodded. “And what about you? How did you find yourself running an art museum?”

Jaebeom wasn’t used to people asking. Because usually, all they cared about was who he was now. Trying to impress him with their ametuer art know-how or advise him with all the conceited, lackluster input of an armchair expert. He hated that part of the job. He hated a lot of parts of the job. “I got my Ph.D. in art history,” he said, leading both of them into a gallery. “I was an archivist here when I first started. But last year, the position unexpectedly fell to me.”

“Unexpectedly?” Mark questioned with a curious tilt of his head.

Jaebeom looked at him, not finding it any easier in the darkened light of the gallery to be anything but blinded by him again. Unable to stop himself from speaking just to fill the space, to keep from solely staring. “Our former director got caught up in a bit of a scandal,” he admitted. Biting his tongue the moment the worlds tumbled from his mouth.

“Oh,” Mark’s curiosity seemed to only heighten. “What kind of scandal?”

Jaebeom’s mouth fell open, caught in his own trap. “I shouldn’t be telling you this,” he breathed.

Mark smiled. “You already are.”

Jaebeom looked around, seeing no one else in the gallery, but regardless, he took a step closer, keeping his voice low. “We had grant money that was intended to be used for inner-city educational programming,” he murmured. “But former leadership decided it would be best used to fund art retreats to Palm Springs for the board members.”

“Yikes,” Mark hissed through his teeth.

“Yeah,” Jaebeom sighed. “Needless to say, we lost a good chunk of our member base in the fall out.”

“On the bright side,” Mark shrugged. “The museum is in better hands now.”

Jaebeom winced. “Arguably.”

“What’s to argue?”

“I wasn’t expecting to ever have this position,” he shook his head, looking out towards the gallery. “I was trained to look at art. To discuss it, take care of it, appraise it. I wasn’t trained to engage with a community. Or maintain a budget. Or create educational programs.”

“Do you feel out of your depth then?”

Jaebeom looked back to him, momentarily wondering why the hell he was even telling him all this. “Do I look it?” he asked.

Mark shook his head, “Not at all.”

Jaebeom felt the nervous chill of his skin, quick to blame it on the cooled, archive-safe air of the gallery.

Mark started to walk, eyes raising up towards the pieces on the walls. “I’ll admit,” he said. “I don’t know much about art.”

The director watched him from a distance, admiring the way he looked up at the pieces in what Jaebeom would typically have assumed was reverence. “Why not?”

Mark continued to walk. “I just never really saw any value in it,” he shrugged, coming closer to a painting and squinting his eyes. “A bunch of adults playing with finger paints and trying to make meanings out of it?”

“Is that all you think it is?”

Mark looked back over to him. “You tell me, Mr. Director.” He huffed, smirking again. “My apologies. Dr. Director.”

Jaebeom looked to the ground, trying to hide the blush he could feel on his cheeks. “If you don’t see the value in art,” he said, distracting himself. “Why are you considering supporting an art museum?”

“My accountant suggested it,” Mark admitted, turning back to the piece he’d been inspecting. “Said it makes light work of taxes.”

And Jaebeom knew it was true, but it was rare for anyone to blatantly admit it. Typically, his donors were too preoccupied with pretending they knew anything about art to speak so honestly. And Mark’s bluntness was, if anything, a bit endearing. “Well, this side of the museum is our West Wing,” Jaebeom said, beckoning to the space around them. “This is what is currently on display to the public.”

Mark looked over, “What’s not on display?”

“The East Wing. It’s currently undergoing renovations.”

“For how much longer?”

Jaebeom shrugged, “Depends.”

“On?”

“When we can raise the funds,” he said, offering that same bluntness in return. 

Mark’s smirk was there again, going all the way up to his eyes. “So, that’s why you met with me personally,” he laughed. “And here I was, thinking you were looking for something else.”

Jaebeom crossed his arms over his chest, “Like what?”

Mark’s eyes glimmered under the low, fifty lux lights. “I won’t say. Just in case you’re still looking for it.”

The whirring in Jaebeom’s head slowed to a stop, going quiet. But when he tried to read the slots, they were symbols in place of symbols. Layers of subtext, impossible to comprehend. So instead of pulling it apart, he stuffed it away. Falling back into the script of past tours. “This gallery is dedicated to pieces in our personal collection that we’ve accumulated over the years.” 

“Show me your favorite.”

“I don’t pick favorites,” he said, dismissively shaking his head.

“Everyone does,” Mark shrugged. “Show me yours.”

Jaebeom hesitated for a moment. Before the perfect one came to mind. He started to walk, hearing Mark’s footsteps following close behind. He went to the corner of the gallery, standing before a massive drawing. Five feet by four feet. All charcoal and graphite. Layered shades of grey. 

In the background, silhouetted birds sat just beyond a window. In front of them, a couch jutted in from the left, filling two-thirds of the canvas. On it, a dark-haired woman. Not sitting, nor standing. No, she was propped up onto her knees, her elbows. Wearing a tank top, jeans slung low on her thighs, sneakers still tired to her feet. Bare ass arched into the air, the shadow dipping between the backs of her thighs just barely concealing what lay there. She was laying her head against the couch, staring back through the canvas. Stilled gaze heavy with emotion.

Mark stepped closer, narrowing his eyes. “What is this?”

Jaebeom stared at Mark against the shades of grey, noting how they only served to brighten his vividness. He drew in a breath. “It’s entitled Love Like A Loon,” he said. “From an LA based artist.”

“It’s quite...erotic,” he giggled, looking back over his shoulder. “Isn’t it?”

Jaebeom had never felt smaller than with both sets of eyes, Mark’s and the drawing’s, barrelling through him. He nodded, “It is.”

“Care to explain it?”

“See, that’s the thing,” Jaebeom winced, looking up at the drawing. “My community engagement director-”

“The one I spoke to?” Mark interjected. “Jinyoung?” 

“Yes. Him,” he nodded. “He is always trying to get us to have more interpretation. To not make art seem like something that’s only for the people who were raised to understand it.” He stepped closer, coming up beside the man. “But I disagree. I want art to speak for itself. I want people to be forced to create their own dialogues. Relate it to their own lives.”

Mark’s smile widened. “You relate then?” he said, raising his brows. “To this piece?”

“I-” Jaebeom lost his words, gaze falling away when Mark’s eyes became too much too close, leaving a pervasive crawl running down his spine. He exhaled slowly, trying to find some relief. “We should move on.”

“Why?” he smiled, eyes ghosting down to his mouth. They felt close now. So close that his voices dropped down to something softer. “Am I flustering you?”

Jaebeom went quiet. No more words left to say. No more ambiguity in Mark’s jests anymore. Now, it was clear what he was doing, what he’d been doing from the start. And Jaebeom felt trapped in the unexpectedness of it all. Because sure, he had come down those steps assuming he’d spend the next hour sucking up to some rich old donor. But he didn’t expect Mark. And he certainly didn’t expect the shameless style of his flirting.

Mark leaned closer, speaking near his ear. “Why is this one your favorite?” he whispered.

Jaebeom licked at his dry lips, focusing his eyes on the drawing and trying to ignore the sensation of Mark’s breath on his neck. “It’s a self-portrait of the artist,” he said. “I like the composition, the details. The immediacy of her shoes still being on, her jeans barely down. Yet, she doesn’t look impatient at all. She looks ready, inviting. This is how she wants her lover to take her.”

“You can relate? You want to be taken similarly?”

Jaebeom dared to look at him, to see just how close he was. Hearing the tease in his voice that was nowhere near as potent as seeing it reflected in his glimmering eyes. And he felt halted in his words, his movements. Unable to pull out of the million thoughts he was having.

Mark laughed again. “I can see why it’s your favorite,” he said, looking back up to it. “But I’d prefer you looking back at me instead of her.”

Jaebeom’s mouth fell open at Mark’s forwardness. Never having heard anything quite like it before. And knowing it was equal parts unprofessional and… intriguing.

Mark’s eyes caught on something, furrowing his brows. “What’s this tag for?” he said, stepping forward to touch at the note near the label.

Jaebeom swallowed, trying to reanimate. To find his words. Hearing them all come out flustered and stammered, “It’s being deaccessioned this week.”

Mark looked back, “What does that mean?”

“It won’t be in our collection anymore,” he shook his head. “We are putting it up for auction at the Winter Gala.”

Mark’s eyes went softer, almost sad. “I’m sorry,” he said, sincerely.

“Don’t be,” Jaebeom waved him away. “It’s for the betterment of the museum.” He thought back to the museum. To the dilemma that Youngjae had so clearly outlined back in his office. And he looked over to Mark, something in him sparking with a wild idea. One too devious to speak of, but just crazy enough to work. 

“You should come,” he rushed to say. “To the Gala.”

Mark raised his brows. “Should I?”

“Yeah,” Jaebeom nodded, smoothing a hand through his hair. “Who knows? It might be a good way to see our museum for more than just a bunch of finger paints,” he tried to smile, hand resting against his neck. “You could see us engaging our community.”

Mark huffed, “Won’t it just be a bunch of rich people?”

Jaebeom bit into his cheek. “Engaging _some_ of our community,” he corrected. He reached out, grabbing onto Mark’s arm and squeezing it through the sleeve of his sweatshirt. Feeling an unexpected firmness that had his body sparking with interest. “Just come,” he pleaded, leaning closer with a coy smile. “I’ll cover your entry fees.”

The man stared back, studying Jaebeom intently. Eyes moving down the length of his body. “Okay,” he smiled. “I’ll clear my schedule.”

And as Jaebeom felt himself be eyed like a piece of meat, he had the passing thought that maybe this was exactly the stroke of fate the universe had intended for him.

\---

The night of the Winter Gala, Jaebeom greeted all the members as they filed into the room. Shaking hands until his arms and smile were sore. Jinyoung was at his side, covertly going over the evening’s schedule with him.

“And then, we will segway into dinner,” he continued on.

“Mhmm,” Jaebeom hummed, eyes searching the crowd.

Jinyoung sighed. “Are you even listening?” he bit out.

Jaebeom looked back at him. “Yeah,” he blinked. “The auction. Got it.”

Jinyoung paused, appraising him up and down. “Must be a special night,” he said, tone heavy with a taunt as he smiled tightly to the members still filtering in.

“Why do you say that?”

“I haven’t seen you in that suit since we dated,” he breathed. 

Jaebeom looked down to the patterned silk suit, knowing he hadn’t seen it since then either.

Jinyoung leaned closer. “And is that the cologne I bought you last Christmas?”

Jaebeom leaned away. “Jinyoung, please,” he scoffed. “I’m just putting in the extra effort.”

“For who?” he murmured, under his breath.

“Jaebeom,” Youngjae called out, weaving through the crowd. “He’s here.”

Jaebeom ignored the way Jinyoung’s brows pulled in confusion as he turned away, following Youngjae back through the crowd. “Where did you seat him?” he said, close to the CFO’s ear.

“Table number five.”

“Move him to my table,” Jaebeom instructed. “Next to me.”

Youngjae’s brows tightened, “But the city commissioner is sitting next to you.”

Jaebeom sighed, frustrated. “She'll just talk my ear off anyway,” he said, growing impatient. “Switch them.”

Jaebeom stopped when he met Mark’s eyes across the room. The man was dressed in a fitted black suit with shiny satin lapels glinting in the low light of the candlelit centerpieces that Bambam had spent hours setting up. The fittedness of the suit giving way to a frame that Jaebeom hadn’t expected under his jeans and sweatshirt the other day. Fit and trim and long in all the right places. And there was no questioning the way his smile bloomed as he looked Jaebeom up and down like he was the most delicious looking prey, making the director flush the same way he had days ago.

“What are you going to do?” Youngjae whispered from beside him, skeptically eyeing Mark from where they stood.

Jaebeom gathered a breath in the width of his chest, “Whatever I have to.” He pat Youngjae’s shoulder before cutting through the crowd, baring a smile wider than any of the members had gotten. “Mark,” he called. “I’m so glad you could make it,” he wrapped his arms around, embracing him. Letting his hands comb down his back and hips to feel those long lines underneath his suit. He pulled away, looking down the man’s frame with no subtly. “You look different from when I last saw you.”

“Well,” Mark shrugged with a laugh. “I had to clean up. It’s an important night.”

“Is it?” Jaebeom’s smile brightened.

Mark drew in a breath through his teeth. “Would you help me find my seat?”

“Actually,” Jaebeom said. “I have you seated next to me. If you don’t mind.”

Mark smirked. “Sounds perfect.”

“Good,” Jaebeom took his hand. “What can I get you to drink? Red? White?”

“Hmm,” Mark hummed. “Anything harder?”

“Yeah,” Jaebeom smiled. “We could get you that.”

He showed him to his table, calling the server over and putting in his drink order. Just as he did, the lights of the atrium started to dim. He looked back to Mark. “Forgive me,” he said. “I have to...” he beckoned towards the stage.

“I’ll be here,” Mark nodded, letting his hand smooth down the lapel of Jaebeom’s suit. “Go do your thing, Dr. Director.”

Jaebeom felt the flush sneak up his cheeks, getting up and bounding up to the stage with new found confidence as Youngjae handed him a microphone. Jaebeom looked out, watching the attendees rush to take their seats. “Good evening, everyone,” he said, hearing the reverberation of his voice. “Welcome to the annual Winter Gala.” The crowd broke into applause. He bowed his head, smiling tightly. “I want to thank you all so much for coming. As you know, we have ongoing renovations in our East Wing. The changes are looking fantastic and we can’t wait for you to see them. But to ensure that we can see that dream through, we ask for your contributions tonight,” he smiled. “With that being said, I will pass the mic to our Chief Financial Officer, Mr. Choi, and we will get started with the auction. We hope you enjoy the evening.”

The crowd clapped as Jaebeom came off the stage, taking his seat at Mark’s side.

The man leaned in close to be heard over the noise, “Look at that. They love you.”

Jaebeom laughed. “Don’t try and flatter me,” he pushed him away. 

Mark grabbed his wrist, fingers at his pulse point again. “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because,” Jaebeom shrugged. “I haven’t had nearly enough to drink yet.”

Mark smirked, reaching for Jaebeom's white wine and moving it closer. “Then, you better get started. It’s going to be a long night.” He raised his own, whiskey glass. “What do you say?” he smiled. “To art?”

Jaebeom huffed, reaching for the stem of his glass. “To art,” he agreed, clinking glasses and taking a sip.

The auction began. Sculptures, woven tapestries, painting classes, ceramics retreats. Every piece was wheeled up to the stage and introduced before Youngjae would start the bidding. Jaebeom watched, eyes flicking between Youngjae and the crowd as each item was bid on. Silently thinking of the goals they had hoped to hit and feeling his stomach sink lower and lower when each item was going for a few thousand below their projections. 

“Fuck,” Jaebeom murmured under his breath when a crystal vase went for three thousand less than Youngjae had needed. He reached for his wine glass, downing it’s remnants in one go.

“What’s wrong?” Mark said, placing a warm hand to his leg under the table.

Jaebeom turned to him, getting caught up in the shine of concern in his eyes. Remembering exactly the plan he'd been thinking of all week long. “Nothing,” he shook his head, forcing a smile. “Everything’s fine.”

Mark didn’t look convinced as he opened his mouth, calling a server to refill Jaebeom’s glass. 

And Jaebeom was about to thank him when his attention was drawn up towards Youngjae again.

“Our final item of the evening,” he said into the mic. “Is a 2017 drawing by Los Angeles based artist, Frances Waite, entitled Love Like A Loon. This piece is a life-like self-portrait in life size that…”

Youngjae’s voice drawled on, but Jaebeom’s eyes were suddenly catching on the movement of Mark’s hand on the table. His fingers wrapping around his auction paddle.

Jaebeom reached out, hand gripping into the sleeve of his blazer. “You don’t have to do this,” he whispered, face close.

Mark’s smile grew. “You said it was a good piece, right?” he raised an eyebrow.

Jaebeom sighed. “Yes, but-”

Youngjae’s voice boomed. “We will start the bidding at $4,000.”

Mark held Jaebeom’s eyes as he raised his paddle.

“$4,000,” Youngjae pointed to Mark. “Can I get $6,000?”

An attendee across the room raised their paddle.

“$6,000,” Youngjae cheered. “Can I get $8,500?”

Mark raised again.

“Mark!” Jaebeom hissed under his breath. “Don’t-”

The man laughed. “Why not?”

“$8,500,” Youngjae snapped his fingers. “Do I hear $10,000?”

An attendee at the table next to theirs held up their paddle.

“$10,000,” Youngjae smiled, obviously getting more than he expected. “How about $12,000?”

“$50,000,” Mark called over the crowd.

Youngjae’s shoulders fell, breaking up his momentum. “$50-” his eyes widened in disbelief. “Are you serious?” he said into the mic.

Mark smiled, bright white teeth stretching so wide. Like it was all a game. He nodded, confidently.

Youngjae blinked, eyebrows rising as he shrugged. “$50,000,” he breathed, like it was absolutely ridiculous. “Going once. Going twice.” He hit the gavel to his podium. “Sold. To the young gentleman in the front.”

Mark looked over to Jaebeom, teeth biting down into his lower lip with smugness.

“Mark,” Jaebeom shook his head, stunned. “That was too generous.”

The man laughed, leaning in and resting both hands against his thighs. Mouth drawing close to his ear, “Then, why don’t you repay me with a favor.”

Jaebeom felt the restless rush of nerves at his touch, his breath. “What did you have in mind?”

Mark pulled away, looking into his eyes. “A tour of the East Wing?”

“Now?”

“Are you busy? You got some ancient board members to please before they fall asleep on you?”

Jaebeom’s eyes watched the slow passive movement of Mark’s tongue against his canine. Feeling something akin to hunger rise up inside of him. He nodded, “I’m sure my team can look after them for a few minutes.”

“Perfect,” Mark said, hands squeezing into Jaebeom’s fleshy thighs.

\---

They reached a gallery deep in the East Wing, transparent plastic tarping covering the floor and crunching under their dress shoes as they walked. The lights overhead were bright fluorescents, glaring off the freshly white walls that had just been painted the past week. Still blank and without artwork, though squares had been traced into the walls to see how different pieces could fit into the space.

“You were right,” Mark said, looking around the unfinished gallery. “The renovations do look great.”

Jaebeom looked up at the walls with a glint of hope in his eyes. Seeing all the hard work his team had done together. All of the long nights. The carefully crafted blueprints and dioramas. Years of work in the making. “I just hope the public will be able to see it soon,” he said, looking over to Mark.

“I have no doubt they will,” he said with full confidence.

Jaebeom furrowed his brows, unsure where it came from, but getting distracted by all the other mysteries the man hid so neatly behind his smile. He stepped closer. “Why _did_ you come tonight?” he asked. “I thought you don’t give a shit about art.”

“Maybe I’m a changed man,” Mark shrugged. “Or maybe it’s just because someone special invited me.”

Jaebeom felt the warmth in his cheeks like maybe the wine had put it there. He came closer, prodding further. “Tell me,” he urged. “Why did you really buy that piece?” 

Mark’s eyes glimmered. “Do you want my honest answer?” he said, tone deep and rumbling in the narrowing space between.

Jaebeom nodded. “I do.”

Mark’s hand drew up, long fingers sweeping at the hair above the director’s ear, tucking it back. “You said you liked it,” he started, eyes going soft as they focused downward on Jaebeom’s mouth. “And ever since, I haven’t been able to shake the image of you bent over for me. Pants barely pulled down. Exposed and begging for me. I’ve imagined fucking into you until the tears stream down your face. I’ve fantasized about it for _days._ ” 

Jaebeom’s breath was gone, making him gasp at the very thought. The imagery of the fantasy so clear. Because the drawing had already planted it inside either of them. And Jaebeom dared to picture it the way Mark was suggesting. Dared to picture himself in the woman’s place. And the thought alone had him involuntarily trembling under the touch of Mark’s fingertips curling at the soft skin behind his ear.

The man smiled. “That would be beautiful,” he whispered, fingers smoothing down his neck and dragging him in by his pulse. “ _That_ would be art. Don’t you think?”

Jaebeom gulped, feeling Mark’s touch move with it. Feeling his hot breath against his lips.

“And you must want that, too,” Mark giggled. “Or else you never would have invited me tonight. Never would have taken this walk with me.”

Jaebeom knew what he wanted. And not just on behalf of the museum, but beyond that. He’d been wanting it ever since he first met Mark’s eyes. Before the museum had been a reasonable excuse to do the unreasonable, the unthinkable.

And maybe Mark saw that. Hell, maybe he’d seen it all along and that’s why he’d only pushed them closer and closer to this point. Till it was inevitable. Till he was closing any space between their mouths. Kissing Jaebeom carefully. Once, twice. Whispering against his mouth. “Let me have it.” Sounding somewhere between pleading and commanding.

And _God,_ his lips felt good. Warm and whispering and kissing him so slowly, carefully. With all the self-control that Jaebeom wasn’t sure he had anymore. Trailing his tongue against the seam of Jaebeom’s mouth before he licked into it. Biting that perfect smile down against his lips, gentle enough to make Jaebeom whimper. Because it just felt so overwhelmingly good that he didn’t want it to stop. But somewhere, in the back of his mind, he knew that wasn’t why they were there. They had greater fantasies to address than simply the meeting of mouths.

Jaebeom pulled away, falling to his knees. His hands reaching for Mark’s hips, then his belt. Rushing to undo it. Looking up at him with all the reverence he offered to a piece of art. His hands delving into Mark’s pants, pulling his cock free and watching it bounce in front his eyes. Flushed and hard like he really had been holding onto this fantasy with no relief. 

Jaebeom took no time, sinking his mouth down around him. Arching his back and staring up at Mark with big eyes as he pulled back. Lewdly lapping at the tip. Oscillating between the urge to perform and the urge to be filled. Sinking back down onto him when he wanted to be full again.

Mark hissed, brows drawing together tight and hand coming up to tangle in Jaebeom’s dark locks. To pull him in viciously, rocking his tight hips up into his mouth.

And it was brutal and physical, but Jaebeom was loving it. Loving the heated breaths falling from Mark’s mouth as he worked into between his lips. Feeling the drool slip down his chin and having to wipe it away to keep it off his silk suit. Humming at the exquisite taste of his precum when it started leaking against his tongue. 

Mark’s fingers pulled at his hair, pulling him off and angling his face up towards him, towards the light. “You’re so eager, aren’t you?” he purred. “So eager to be good for me.”

Jaebeom winced, slipping and falling into his own weakness. He nodded, feeling that tug of Mark’s fingers even firmer.

“Then, preen for me,” Mark smiled. “Just like that drawing. Can you do that?”

Jaebeom trembled, sinking deeper and deeper into his desires. He nodded. His hands fell from Mark’s hips as they reached for his own belt, undoing his dress pants and pushing them down his thighs just enough to expose himself. Looking up at Mark as if pleading for some kind of encouragement.

Mark smirked, the toe of his dress shoe dragging up his thigh and down the length of his hard cock. “So pretty, Jaebeom,” he praised. “Don’t stop.”

Jaebeom ached, twitching at the feeling of patent leather against his shaft. Elbows falling to the floor as he lifted his ass into the air. Too lost in it to feel any embarrassment. 

“Wow,” Mark said, shifting behind him. “You’re even prettier from back here.”

Jaebeom felt like warm water was being poured down his back, heating every knot in his spine with much needed approval. Making his back arch up, daring to look back.

Mark was standing, watching from a short distance. Hand against his cock, languidly stroking as he watched Jaebeom. Mouth falling open in what sounded like a choked moan. “Fuck,” he hissed. “You look just like her.”

Jaebeom felt the blood rush to his cheeks.

“So patient,” he murmured, coming closer. Getting down on one knee. And then the other. “So inviting.” He let his hands reached out, feeling over the curve of Jaebeom’s ass. “Fuck that,” he breathed. “You’re better.”

Jaebeom quaked, anticipating. Every single nerve ending waiting and waiting, but knowing it would be that much sweeter when Mark finally indulged him.

Mark leaned forward, breath ghosting over his ass. He placed a kiss on his cheek. Then the other one. He let his hands spread Jaebeom wide before he ducked down, letting his wet tongue swirl around the tight clench of his hole.

Jaebeom moaned loud, hearing it echo. Unable to contain it. Because Mark’s mouth had felt good against his own. But damn, it felt even better here.

Mark’s tongue flicked before his lips covered it, kissing and sucking with all the zeal that Jaebeom had given his leaking cock. Tongue lapping against him, humming until Jaebeom could feel the vibrations of his moans against his entrance. Feel the way he was getting progressively wetter, drenched from Mark’s watering mouth.

Jaebeom was squirming. Ass going higher up, backing into Mark’s face. Face contorting and feeling hot from all the blood rushing there. Hands fisting into the plastic tarping, nothing else to hold onto.

“So good,” Mark murmured, up against his hole. “So, so good.”

Jaebeom wanted to cry. Cry out, sob, wail. Any of it. Anything to get it out. But he gritted his teeth, baring down as Mark kept dragging against him. And he could feel the saliva dripping down to his balls, not caring if it got onto his dress pants.

The man pulled back, hands stretching Jaebeom out. “Fuck. I want to be in there,” he hissed. “Do you want me in there?”

Jaebeom nodded, feeling deranged, maddened.

“Tell me,” Mark said, gripping down on his flesh.

“I want you,” Jaebeom cried out, shuddering. “I want you inside me. I want to be good for you. Just a pretty, tight hole to fuck into. Please. Please.” He begged, over and over. Growing incoherent.

“Already so pretty,” Mark laughed, a smile in his voice. “Now, let’s see how tight you are.” 

He pulled his hands away and Jaebeom wanted to die without them. Having to calm himself, tell himself they would be back soon. He listened to the sound of Mark’s teeth ripping open a condom. Rolling it over his shaft. Squeezing lube out. And Jaebeom wanted to look, but he withheld. He was good.

Mark’s fingertips touched at his entrance. Cool and slick with that lube and tracing over the same circles his tongue had. But this time, sinking slowly into him. Pushing and pushing just to open him up.

Jaebeom whined, high and gasping when he finally felt Mark’s finger push deep enough. Shoulders tightening and wanting more but not knowing how to voice it anymore.

“You weren’t lying,” Mark said, finger pressing into his walls, swirling around inside of him. “You are going to feel so good.”

Jaebeom’s cock throbbed. Hanging heavy and untouched between his legs. And God, if Mark just touched him now it would all be over. But he knew he wouldn’t get off so easily.

Mark sunk another finger into him, scissoring them in tandem. All the slickness audible as they moved inside of him. Mark withdrew his fingers, grasping at his hip roughly.

Jaebeom felt it, the heavy head of Mark’s cock sitting poised at his entrance. And then he felt the gentle thrust of his hips, pushing into him slowly. Half like he was being considerate and half like he was just relishing the feeling.

Mark’s breaths were shaky as he slid further into him. Stilling and sitting there for a moment. Catching his breath before his hips began to rock. Just as gently. Back and forth and back again. Each time going a little deeper, leaving Jaebeom a little looser.

Jaebeom shuddered, whining again. Cause it felt so good. So perfect. And part of him just wanted it to last forever. To always be hovering on the precipice of his climax.

But Mark had other plans as he leveraged his weight a little heavier into Jaebeom, hips going flush against the curve of his ass. Groaning as his rhythm got thicker. Further back and further forth, like he was trying to savor every inch of Jaebeom against him.

He preened his ass higher, wordlessly asking for more. And Mark gave in, giving him one thorough slam that he felt deep inside. Making him cry out.

“Even your sounds are pretty,” Mark huffed.

And almost on reflex, Jaebeom did it again. Cried out, high and mangled.

“Goddamn it,” Mark said, looping a hand around to cover Jaebeom’s mouth, leaning forward to hiss in his ear. “Keep doing that and you’ll make me cum too fast.”

Jaebeom nodded against his hand, until he removed it, leaning back up and slamming into him again. Jaebeom held his breath, anything to hold it in. Feeling his eyes water and burn.

Mark didn’t let up, only increased his pace, his force. The only sounds were the meeting of their skin and the panting from Mark’s lips.

Jaebeom’s knees started to bow out, trembling as he tried to get his cock flush against the floor. Wanting to rid himself of this feeling crawling at his skin. To rut into something until he had nothing left to give.

Mark held his hips higher. “No,” he said. “Wait.”

Jaebeom whimpered, obeying.

Mark kept going, jolting Jaebeom’s body with each thrust now and bringing them in quick succession. “Fuck,” he hissed. “You feel so good.”

Jaebeom leaned up higher, offering more of himself for Mark to go deep into.

Mark readily took it, slamming into him as his breaths got shorter, his thrusts more erratic. His hand came forward, reaching for Jaebeom’s face and turning it back towards him. Their eyes meeting as Mark’s mouth fell open. He quickly pulled out, leaning up as Jaebeom watched him fist his dick. Cum leaking through his fingers in thick spurts that the man aimed at Jaebeom’s hole, coating it as he groaned. Both of them tripped up in watching it happen.

Mark’s shoulders fell, hand pulling off his dick and fingertips reaching out. Swiping through the mess he’d made and swirling it into Jaebeom’s hole.

And it was so sensitive and open from Mark’s cock that Jaebeom moaned aloud. Feeling long fingers slipping inside of him, slamming up against his prostate with all the same precision as his cock. 

Jaebeom’s hands fisted into the tarp, forehead falling to the floor as he tried to hang on for as long as he could. But he could see the stars in his eyes, feel the tears pricking at the corners, threatening to spill.

Mark’s fingers were suddenly gone. Nothing touching him anymore. He panicked, head shooting up to look back.

Mark was hovered over him, smirking and smug. “You’ve been so good,” he soothed. “You know that?”

Jaebeom’s lip quivered, tears spilling down his face. He nodded.

“I’m going to let you cum,” he said, kissing the skin of his ass. “But you can’t touch yourself, okay?”

Jaebeom whimpered. He nodded again.

Mark licked his lips, diving down to lick at Jaebeom’s hole again. Lick at the remnants of himself there. And the strokes of his tongue weren’t ruthless like his hips or his fingers. No, they were gentle. Curling up against him. Tinkling at every small nerve.

The breaths in Jaebeom’s chest got shorter. And shorter. And he watched. Face tightening. Tears spilling. Seeing the white cum collecting on Mark’s tongue every time he curled it. And he throbbed everywhere. All at once. Baring down his teeth and his fists and his knees as he felt his body give way. Eyes glazing over black and mouth falling open, moaning louder than any thought of where they were. His cock twitched against the plastic tarp, spilled out into a puddle that he kept dragging through. 

And Mark just ate him out through it, making it seem like it would never end.

When Jaebeom’s body finally relented, he was shaking on all fours. Ready to collapse.

But Mark held his hips in the air, keeping him on all fours. “Stay like this for me,” he commanded. “Can you do that?”

And Jaebeom’s knees and hands ached, but he couldn’t deny him. He nodded.

Mark did up the front of his pants as he came around, criss-crossing his legs and sitting down in front of Jaebeom. “Shh,” he soothed, hands reaching up to hold his face. “So pretty with those big tears in your eyes,” he smiled, wiping at them with his thumbs. “Who put them there?”

Jaebeom felt weak, arms trembling under his weight, but unwilling to relent. Tiling into Mark’s touch. “You did,” he whimpered.

“You’re goddamn right,” Mark huffed. He pulled his hands away, reaching into the inner pocket of his blazer and taking out a checkbook and a pen. He clicked the pen with one hand, starting to make out a check.

The sound of the pen scribbling into the paper made Jaebeom smile in his delirium. Like some kind of anthem signalling his triumph.

Mark signed his name at the bottom of the check before ripping it from the spine and stuffing the checkbook and pen back into his blazer. He held the check in front of Jaebeom’s eyes. It was blank, no amount transcribed. “Whatever you need,” the man said. 

Jaebeom’s eyes widened, rushing to find his voice through a weak throat, “I couldn’t possibly-”

“Jaebeom,” Mark smiled, leaning in to kiss him again. “You earned it.”

Jaebeom felt warm, tingly all over again. Shivering at the brush of his lips.

Mark pulled away, reaching out to hold Jaebeom’s chin. “Here,” he said, commanding Jaebeom’s mouth to fall open before sliding the check between his teeth. 

Jaebeom bit down, still obediently holding his position.

Mark stood up, straightening his clothes. He touched his hand to Jaebeom’s cheek one last time. “I’ll see you around, Dr. Director,” he said, before letting his hand fall away and walking out.

When Jaebeom couldn’t hear the click of Mark’s dress shoes anymore, he collapsed onto the floor. Half naked and sore and elated. He pulled the check from his teeth, holding it up to the light. Seeing Mark’s name signed beautifully at the bottom. And he was overcome with the feeling that he’d been victorious in more ways than one.

\---

Jaebeom arrived to work on Monday with considerably more pep in his step that he couldn’t attribute to the coffee in his hand. And as soon as he pushed through the glass doors of the lobby, he was blindsided by Youngjae who ran up to kiss his cheek.

Jaebeom pulled away, looking at him. “What the hell was that for?” he said, furrowing his brows.

The CFO smiled brightly, clutching his arm. “I don’t know how you did it,” he shook his head. “But we deposited that check from Mr. Tuan this morning and paid the contractors immediately after. We are all set to finish the renovations.”

Jaebeom felt the swell of his heart in his chest. Not remembering the last time he’d seen Youngjae in such good spirits. “Well,” he shrugged. “Perhaps I’m not the worst museum director after all?” 

“Perhaps not,” he smiled.

“Jaebeom.”

The director looked up, hearing Jinyoung calling out to him as he came down the staircase.

“What is it?” he called back, voice echoing off the empty lobby walls.

The man jogged up to them. “You had a delivery this morning.”

“Just leave it on my desk,” Jaebeom said with a wave of his hand. “I’ll get to it in a little bit.”

Jinyoung huffed, “It sure as hell ain’t gonna fit on your desk.”

Jaebeom looked to Youngjae who was staring curiously back at him.

When all three of them got to Jaebeom’s office, there was a huge canvas, wrapped in layers of plastic wrap. But even through the many layers, Jaebeom could see the shades of grey. The outline of a dark couch, a body bent nearly in two.

“Is that-” Youngjae started to speak, stepping forward.

“Sure is,” Jinyoung sighed, folding his arms across his chest. He raised an eyebrow, “Care to explain why Mr. Tuan gifted you his auction piece, Jaebeom?”

The director fought the urge to let out a laugh, to give away just how delighted he was. Because when he looked to the drawing, it didn’t feel like just a piece of beautiful art anymore. But a trophy that was all his. 

“Get this accessioned,” he ordered. “I want it back on the wall today.”

“Uh. Where?” Jinyoung narrowed his eyes. “We already filled its spot in the gallery.”

Jaebeom looked up to the wall behind his desk, wide and white and perfect. He pointed to it. “There.”

Jinyoung scoffed. “You can’t just hog the museum’s art from the public,” he said, getting visibly upset.

Jaebeom looked at him, still too euphoric to let his prickliness get to him. “Then, don’t accession it,” he shrugged. “It’s a gift to me after all, right?” He beckoned to the lobby down below. “The museum has enough pieces for the public,” he smiled. “This one is just for me.”


End file.
